


Icebound

by Aurora313 (orphan_account)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics)
Genre: Acherus: The Ebon Hold, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle for Azeroth alternate ending, Death Knight, Gen, Shadowmourne, The Lich King - Freeform, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Aurora313
Summary: "The Banshee's Schemes threaten the balance. I had no hand in them." These words were true. The Lich King Bolvar Fordragon played no role in appointing Sylvanas Windrunner as Warchief of the Horde.It is long past time he change that state of affairs.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Preparations

Darion Mograine, leader of the Four Horsemen and Highlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, approached the balcony on Acherus' upper level to answer the Deathlord's summons. The balcony itself affording a view of the saronite spires of Icecrown Citadel, and the Frostbrood dragon Sindragosa coiled atop its summit.

Wing-Commander Thalanor was conspicuously absent, though his faithful bone griffons remained on their perches. Occasional twitches of their talons or clicks of their beaks gave any indication that they were more than just skeletal statues. Standing by the railing, still and cold as marble was the Deathlord, even as her cloak and faded hair were buffeted by the arctic winds of Northrend.

She was a human woman, wearing a suit of armour forged by Alliance smithies. Brown and greys, accented by bright enchanted blues. Whichever smith worked the steel must of had no small measure of talent when it came to imbuing the armour with magical properties as well. Occasionally small ephemeral bone-like wings would flex out from the pauldrons, like a bird ready to take flight. Though in Darion Mograine's observation, those were purely an object of vanity - perhaps a form of maker's brand or signature. 

Deathlord Ophelia Rutherford had her hand on the pommel of an familiar extraordinarily powerful runic weapon. One that Darion had last laid eyes upon many years ago. The Deathlord had always kept it locked away once the Lich King was felled. To see it out again reminded Darion of that victory a decade ago. Or was it longer? 

Time was all relative when you were dead and so much had happened - the Cataclysm, the Pandaren mists, the Iron Horde, the Burning Legion and now the Banshee Queen's war? It felt like centuries since that fleeting moment of triumph.  Darion cast his eyes over the rune-forged axe. 

Shadowmourne. 

Even now it overflowed with the promise of devastating power, though at this time it seemed to be submitting to the Deathlord's will... for the moment.

"Deathlord, you requested my council on something?" His voice was raspy, and its echoing quality greater thanks to his helm.

Hesitation touched the Ophelia's sunken features, something troubled her. Or perhaps that was just her typical forlorn expression. Hard to tell, there was so much hanging over the Ebon Blade's collective heads these day.

"Yes. I've spent some time considering quite a few things now. The Lich King that was Arthas is dead and rotting in hell. And the Legion - Neh'zul's ancient masters - were defeated. So much has happened since we gained our freedom at the Battle of Light's Hope." 

Finally Ophelia turned to face him, she held the mythical axe out in offering to the the Highlord in both hands. "This is something long past overdue, but I believe the time has come to return this axe to you. You are the mastermind behind its creation and I can think of no Death Knight more deserving to wield this weapon."

Highlord Mograine glanced down at the axe, peering at it critically. All those years ago, it was forged from Arthas' own weapon Light's Vengeance. He remembered how he sent Ophelia - a comparative neophyte against to her might now - to taint the sacred hammer with the corruption and shadows that prevailed Icecrown. They collected the shattered fragments of the Frozen Throne to hone its fine edge. 

"I can't accept this, Deathlord. You are the one who braved the perils of Icecrown and all of the challenges within to forge that weapon. Your efforts are what allowed us to finally fell that monster." 

"Even though it forced a good man to sacrifice himself to take that bastard's throne?" Ophelia countered harshly, her cold rasping voice accented by the necromatic magics used to reanimate her.

"Sacrifice is our lot. And do you think me blind to the burden that damned crown carries? Do you think I spent all those days nights at the Garrison in Draenor twiddling my thumbs, or making paper toys out of the scripts your followers helped gather?" 

Ophelia's proffered arms lowered slightly, a pause came before her response. "I wouldn't put it past you."

"Thank you..." The Highlord grumbled at the quip. "While I would enjoy trading barbs with you, Ophelia, perhaps we should simply skip to your point." 

"Very well then. We will speak truth here --- more than that, let us speak candidly Darion: You and I both know that despite my wielding this weapon, I could never tap into the vast potential contained within. I'm just scratching the surface, flailing at the shadows and too afraid to dip deeper into its well of power. But you..." Ophelia's eyes lifted from the weapon, the blue lich fire burning within with a mix of awe and almost feverish excitement, "But you, my Highlord, you are the mightiest Death Knight on the face of Azeroth, second only to Arthas before he donned the Helm of Domination. And with his death, that leaves you at the top of the metaphorical food chain, as it were."

Darion's lips pressed in a thin line, his sardonic wit coming to the fore, "If you're attempting to flatter me by comparing me to Arthas, than you should know you are singularly failing in your task."

"Fine then. I want to be rid of it, and you're just about the only craggy little bastard I can think of to unload it on without turning into a depraved mad man hell bent on the destruction we all hold dear." The Deathlord's own sarcastic tone was a remarkable return to form and Darion Mograine instantly found himself feeling more relieved, her quip cutting the tension like a knife.

"That sounds more like the Deathlord I know." The Highlord retorted, allowing himself to slip into a more casual mood, if only for a fleeting moment before the severity of the situation pressed upon them once more. "Why do you wish me to wield Shadowmourne in your stead? I do believe I told you once that I was through having magical weapons dictate my fate."

Ophelia let the weapon drop, balancing it on its tip while her hands folded over the pommel. "Let's lay it all out, shall we? I struggle to maintain more than ten ghouls for perhaps half a minute, you can raise an army of ten thousand undead with a simple command - not just Ghouls but giants and abominations too. And that was accomplished against the Paladins fighting upon Holy Ground. Against that measuring stick, I can think of no man better suited to attempt to harness the full destructive might of this weapon. Especially given what the Lich King intends."

Draion rolled his eyes under his helm, despite himself, he smirked in wry amusement. "Well, thank you for your candor. And if you are attempting to boost my ego, I must admit it is working to a degree."

Ophelia glanced over Acherus' railing, her gaze tracing the outline of Icecrown Citadel. "The Lich King will soon leave Northrend. And that his destination will be Orgrimmar. Our agents in Sylvanas' camp, as well as those of Saurfang and Wrynn's factions, confirmed that one last assault will be taking place outside the Gates of Orgrimmar." 

"They intend to lay siege to the Capital. Again. Surely they know that they're simply asking for more trouble," Darion would've pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration had he not been donning his helm. "This is why the living can't have nice things. We ensure the Scourge stays contained, and they use that freedom to massacre each other. Am I the only one who feels like a maid?"

Ophelia laughed, a sardonic mirthful little laugh. "Oh, believe me - I am not thrilled about it either. But our target is the Banshee Queen. If things go as we predict, it could be our one and only chance to seize Sylvanas and lock her away in the deepest darkest pits of Icecrown - as we should have done long ago. The Lich King has called upon us to make that happen."

"Yes, I am aware of that. I am one of the Horsemen." Darion declared, "And though you were named his right hand, I am the leader of the Ebon Blade."

"Indeed. Which is why I present this axe to you. I want to make sure we have every advantage we can get when facing down that treacherous banshee." Once more, Ophelia hoisted the legendary axe into her hands and offered it out to him. "You have a greater chance than any of us to unleash its true destructive might. And we will need every advantage we have to subdue the Banshee and her zealots."

Darion raised his hand gingerly, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before seizing the axe in his grip. He lifted it from the Deathlords grip to examine its balance, feel its heft and weight. He spun Shadowmourne's haft between his hands, feeling proud at how effortless the motion was and how weightless the axe felt in his grip.

"It suits you." Ophelia complimented.

Darion readjusted his fingers on its haft and a reply formed in his throat, only to be cut off by a deafening screech that rent the air.

The great frost wyrm, Sindragosa, flexed its bone wings with a triumphant howl. In swift move, she swooped down from the Frozen throne, sweeping across Acherus' balcony as the two Death Knights watched. 

"The King finally descends from the throne," Darion mused grimly, returning to a persona more befitting the Highlord of the Ebon Blade. "It appears our time is at hand."

"Agreed. I will summon the Ebonhold's Portal mages. We will need to work with alacrity and focus if we're to succeed in our ambush." Ophelia Rutherford turned sharply on her heel and began marching down the steps.

"By your word, Deathlord." Darion Mograine answered, marching in lockstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too dramatic. Just decided to write my own ending to the whole BFA ending with Saurfang and Sylvanas' duel, make her look a touch more cunning than was presented in the Shadowlands trailer. I only plan to write maybe 3-4 more chapters for this story. Just a bridge between BFA's ending and Shadowland's opening.
> 
> Sure, the battle is great and all, but rocking up to Icecrown of her own will? Not so much. Tricking the Lich King off his throne by forcing his hand to smuggle her behind his defenses, so she can be a Trojan prisoner and attack him in his own seat of power? Now THAT is cunning.
> 
> Also, excuse to give Darion Shadowmourne - not that I need one. Boi made it, boi gets to own it.
> 
> Regards,  
> Aurora313


	2. Reckoning

Outside the gates of Orgrimmar, the lingering remnants of the Alliance army and those Horde warriors loyal to Saurfang stood across the Dranosh'ar Blockade line. They waited and watched on with baited breath as High Overlord Saurfang and Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner fought in a ritual challenge.

This Mak'Gora had so much more than the fate of the Horde, or even the war, riding on its outcome. The victor here would determine perhaps the very fate and future shape of Azeroth herself.

And at this very moment, that future was looking bleaker by the second. Saurfang was armed with Thrall's axe and Shalamayne that Anduin had loaned him, and Sylvanas took up a pair of daggers from her banner. But she was precisely as nimble and swift as only elves could be. Against the aging orc, the Banshee's swiftness, deft hand and evasiveness placed her in an early advantage in this duel.

"The High Overlord falls..." Sylvanas lorded over Saurfang, bringing him to his knees with long slices and cuts.

She loomed over him, her face was a mask of stoicism, but her voice and the subtle growl it carried showed the truth depths of her rage at this betrayal. "I _trusted_ you. And so did they."

Sylvanas straightened, circling Saurfang like a vulture circling their prey eager for the kill. "Death comes old soldier. And all of their hope dies with you."

The old Orc's fingers curled tighter around the grip of Shalamayne. "Hope... you cannot kill it." He whispered to himself at first. "You will _never_ kill hope..."

"You tried at Teldrassil... and you failed. Hope remained." Saurfang swung the sword at her wildly but it was deflected with little effort. Another wild swing and another clang of metal against metal. "You set us to kill each other and Lorderon. Again, you fail. We stand together, but you just keep failing!" 

He brought down Shalamayne in a two-handed grip against her daggers, "The Horde will endure! The Horde is strong!" 

The last strike was repelled, and Saurfang capitalized on this golden opportunity, splitting the Late-King Wrynn's sword into its two parts, he struck. The first blow was deflected but the second struck true, slicing Sylvanas' eye.

"The Horde is NOTHING!" She spat, all hatred and rage for that fraction of a second while she tended to her eye. 

In that moment, she came to a realisation and it was as if flood gates had burst open. She took a step forward and her next words were accented by the Banshee's howl. "You are all nothing!"

The chill of death swept through the Dranosh'ar Blockade, accenting Sylvanas' nihilistic howl with foreboding and dread. A fierce wind coiled and wound its way through the desert plain of Durotar from Bladefist bay, carrying with it a steadily thickening mist.

Anduin Wrynn knew his focus should be on the duel, but he couldn't help his attention being drawn to the turning weather. And the icy chill that came with it. A chill that cut cleanly to the bone. He glanced at his advisors, all equally perplexed and concerned as he. Even those leaders of the Horde who sided with Saurfang were taken aback by the sudden shift. The skies themselves closed, blanketed by thick greyish-black clouds.

Was this the Banshee Queen's power? How did she come across this?

"For Azeroth!" 

In a swift move, dark magic shot from Sylvanas' hands and ended the High Overlord in a single blow. His lifeless corpse feel back, smoking from whatever twisted shadows the Banshee cast to do her bidding.

"If you could see yourselves as I see you..." Sylvanas walked forward. "Toy soldiers in tin plate. Beasts who howl for honour. Standing as one. Savour it. Nothing lasts."

As her body evaporated into mist and assumed its incorporate state, she whisked her way into the sky. As the armies were powerless to halt the Banshee's escape, a massive shadow hiding in the dark clouds collided with the wispy form. A shadow like a whip, smacked the mass of mist back down. Sylvanas' form crashed against Orgrimmar's front gate, denting the iron as her body slumped down.

She gasped for air, an instinctual reaction from a winding blow. "What...?"

"What's going on?" Thelysrra was the first to ask, but her voice was soon drowned out.

The east wind's howl grew to a complete blizzard, blanketing the crimson clay of Durotar white. It was punctuated by the clattering of steel. Confusion rippled like waves through the assembled forces, Horde and Alliance alike, as banners of fidelity fell to the ground. The sound of chain mail, plate and footfalls followed, echoing through the suddenly frozen valley. Men and women of all races pushed forward through their allies to come to the front lines. Others tried to stop them, but found themselves quite literally rooted in place by ice.

Even the mighty dented iron gates of Orgrimmar opened with a rumble of steel, revealing dozens if not hundreds of plate-armoured soldiers. All of them held one trait in common, one trait that unified them. The cold blue Lich Fire burning in their eyes.

"Death Knights--!" Jaina hissed under her breath. "They're all Death Knights! What are they _doing_?"

Thelyssra and Lor'themar of the Horde were both readying themselves for a battle. But not of the Death Knights chose to acknowledge their respective faction leaders. They instead moved to converge on Sylvanas Windrunner.

"What is going on? Has she taken the will of the Death Knights?" Thelyssra had her arcane magics at the fore, ready to defend herself but uncertain where to direct her spell casts.

"If that is the case, then we're in for a hard fight. But I don't think we are a factor in whatever schemes they are planning this day." Lor'Themar answered.

"Alliance! To arms!" Anduin called as the icy blizzard became too thick to see more than a few feet in front of him.

"There is no need to raise alarm, Great King." The magically twisted voice of a female warrior emerged from the fog beside him, showing no small measure of respect.

Anduin and Jaina both turned to see a female Death Knight, a human woman whose eye burned with Lich fire. They recognized her as Ophelia Rutherford, the Death Knight champion who assisted them through out the campaign against the Legion, and again in this bloody war. "We have no quarrel with you. Please, allow us to take on this mantle and ensure our common peril stays... _contained_."

A shadow swooped over them all, accompanied by a mighty roar that split the heavens. A dragon's roar. It became clear that this creature circling the skies was the one to cast Sylvanas down from her escape.

"All of you would betray me too?" Sylvanas directed her attention to the Death Knights behind her, ones she recognised as pledging their loyalty to her.

"Did you think we had forgotten what you had done to Koltira Deathweaver?" One of them, a Goblin, grunted.

"Or the massacre at Arathi?" A Forsaken Death Knight continued.

"Or the sacking of Gilneas? The burning of Teldrassil?!" A worgen grunted in a thick Gilnean accent as the human form gave away to the wolf within.

"You have torn with world asunder, and we will abide it no longer." A Tauren Knight declared, and the air rang with the sound of hundreds of runeblades being drawn.

Sylvanas' retort died on her tongue when something shifted behind her. She brought up her daggers to defend from the mighty axe bearing down on her. The power of the blow intercepted and matched... for now.

"I'm running out of patience with all of you. Stand aside boy!" Sylvanas growled, standing fast against the might of Shadowmourne.

"And _you_ have exhausted _our_ patience, Sylvanas Windrunner." Darion Mograine, Highlord of the Ebon Blade growled, readjusting his grip and pushing down with renewed strength. "We have allowed you to go on unimpeded, but your judgement is at hand."

"Spare me your self-righteous sanctimony. You take sides in a war among factions - Does that not spit in the face of your oh-so-vaunted neutrality? I thought you held yourselves above such things." Sylvanas snarled back.

"This is not about factions or race divides!" Another Death Knight, one wielding a staff with a horned skull atop, plunged the pommel into the snowy clay. Defiling magics spread out from the ground under High Inquisitor Whitemane's staff and grasping skeletal hands burst through the ground at Sylvanas' feet. "This is about balance, about life and death itself!"

The Banshee assumed her spectral form to once again escape, but a third Death Knight leaped from his frostbrood dragon mount concealed in the mist and brought down his zweihander down against her. Sylvanas was forced to assume her corporeal form once more to block the blow. King Thoras Trollbane grit his teeth.

"When two foes clash in the air, the lighter one is blasted away. Stay down, Banshee witch!" With a grunt of effort, the Death Knight sliced downward, knocking Sylvanas on her back. Thoras landed with a heavy 'thud', sword still tight in his grip and aimed at the Banshee.

"Varok Saurfang was a good man, a good general - and you killed him. The Horde was honourable and proud, and you defiled its legacy. I will enjoy seeing you beheaded." Nazgrim, the fourth Death Knight emerged from the crowd, his runeaxe balanced across his shoulders.

"I will not be beholden to any of you! You or the rest of your damned toy soldiers." Sylvanas growled, "If I have to slaughter each and every one of you to leave this place, then I shall do so without hesitation."

"I don't believe you fully comprehend your position here, Windrunner." Highlord Darion Mograine declared, Shadowmourne still in his tightening grip.

Under his helm, the Banshee could tell he was smirking, and it infuriated her. Just what did he have to be so damned confident about? As one, he and the other three knights who struck - Inquisitor Whitemane, King Trollbane and General Nazgrim - buried their weapons into the ground. Rime covered chains burst forth and coiled like snakes around the Banshee Queen, binding her completely.

A deep rumbling tone echoed from within and without pierced to the very core of every mortal, living or dead, present. "For too long, your place in my Citadel has remained vacant. No longer. You have squandered the freedoms i have sought fit to grant. Today, I intend to remedy that mistake."

That voice once belonged to the long-thought-dead Lich King. "For your crime of threatening the balance between life and death with your vile schemes - you will remain imprisoned. Forever."

"NO!" Sylvanas struggled against the chains that bound her as energy formed and coiled around them. Runes of sickly green formed under their feet, encompassing all of the Death Knights present. And in an eye blink instant, they had all vanished, leaving the two leading factions on Azeroth behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now... things seemed a bit too easy there, didn't they? ;)
> 
> All according to plan, isn't it Sylvanas?
> 
> Regards,  
> Aurora313

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too dramatic. Just decided to write my own ending to the whole BFA ending with Saurfang and Sylvanas' duel, make her look a touch more cunning than was presented in the Shadowlands trailer. I only plan to write maybe 3-4 more chapters for this story. Just a bridge between BFA's ending and Shadowland's opening.
> 
> Sure, the battle is great and all, but rocking up to Icecrown of her own will? Not so much. Tricking the Lich King off his throne by forcing his hand to smuggle her behind his defenses, so she can be a Trojan prisoner and attack him in his own seat of power? Now THAT is cunning.
> 
> Also, excuse to give Darion Shadowmourne - not that I need one. Boi made it, boi gets to own it.
> 
> Regards,  
> Aurora313


End file.
